The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(36)

“Look,” I say, after swallowing this delicious concoction. “Isn’t that the fountain we’re supposed to visit?”

“What? That’s a fountain? It looks like a mini cathedral,” Crew says.

“I know. I was looking at pictures of it on our drive here. I wanted to make sure we knew what we were looking for. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Very. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to find the rings, but from the look of it, there’s a little line off to the side. I bet that’s where you spin the gold rings.”

“Most likely.” I take a sip of my wine and then inhale in a sharp, cold breath. “I feel like getting lost under the twinkle lights tonight.”

“Then let’s do it. That’s what we’re here for—to get lost.”

“And drunk, right?”

“Of course, drunk.” He holds up his mug. “To Pops.”

I hold up mine as well and we clink our mugs together. “To Pops.”





“Do we make a wish?” I ask Crew as we move closer in line to the gold rings.

“I don’t think so. Pops just said it’s supposed to give you good luck if you spin them.”

“Want to spin it together?” I lift my mug to my lips. We’re both on our second cup of mulled wine, which has kept us fairly warm on this cold winter night.

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” he says, wrapping his arm around me and holding me close.

God, I love being wrapped up in his arms, this close to him. It reminds me of warm summer days, of carefree days. It reminds me that I’m not alone—that at least for a short period of time, I’m not alone.

When it’s our turn, we step up to the fountain and I realize that I can barely reach the gold ring. Crew laughs, and without even thinking about it, turns around so I can climb up on is back. He hands his phone to the person in line behind us, and together, we reach out and touch the gold ring, smiling at the camera. Then we turn it together, one full loop.

Whispering, Crew says, “That was for Pops. Now one full turn for us.”

Smiling, we turn it one more time and then collect our mugs and phone.

We stand to the side and take a look at the picture. Behind us in the picture is a light orb from one of the bulbs strung along the stalls, but I can’t help but think how it might be Pops, joining us.

“Another keeper,” Crew says before pocketing his phone.

“Make sure you send me these photos, Hollywood.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course I will, Twigs. Can’t have you missing out on my handsome self in your phone.”

I laugh. “Ass.”

Bringing his mug up to his lips, he asks, “What should we do next?”

“I think it’s time to get lost.”

“Then let’s get lost together.”

Once again, he takes my hand in his, and we walk into the thick of the Christkindlesmarkt stalls.





“Crew,” I whisper and laugh at the same time.

“Hmm?”

“Look at that stall over there.” I point to the left.

“Where?”

“There.”

“Where?”

Laughing, I grab him by the chin and force him to look where I’m pointing. Four mugs of mulled wine in and we’re starting to feel the effects.

“Look at the dolls with no pants playing instruments.”

He blinks a few times. “Are you sure they’re not wearing pants?”

“Positive. See, that tuba player has a carved bum.”

“I’m going to need a better look at these.” He walks up to the stall and I follow closely behind him, giggling the entire time, because that’s the maturity level I’m at right now. Crew picks up the tuba player and examines it. “Huh, no pants. Look at his little butt crack.” Crew runs his finger along the seam and says, “Smooth.”

“Uh, you’re fingering the bare butt of a pant-less tuba player, I think you need to check yourself.”

He pauses and watches how his finger is moving up and down. “You know, I really am. And for some reason, I’m still doing it.”

“Is your finger short-circuiting?”

“I think it is.”

To save him from the humiliation of butt-fingering a ceramic doll, I pull the figurine from his hand and set it back down on the table.

“Thanks,” he says in relief.

“Of course. I really think that was uncomfortable for everyone.”

“Were people watching?”

“I don’t know, but I’m afraid to look around,” I whisper now, keeping my eyes trained on him.

Leaning closer, he asks, “Are we drunk?”

I dab my finger on my tongue and then hold it up to the chilly night air. I pause, letting the wind whip around my finger, and then I nod. “Yup, we’re drunk.”

Crew clutches his heart and lets out a sigh of relief. “Shit, I feel accomplished.”

“Me, too,” I say with pride, my chest puffing. “We did it. We got drunk and we’re not passed out in our bed.”

“Some might say we’re killing this whole vacation thing.”

“Some might say that.” I slowly nod. “Oh, look. This one is playing the violin.” I hold up another figurine and Crew takes it from my hands to examine it.